


And Still You Want Me

by wantinghopingwriting (Tazza1993)



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 10:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18118970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tazza1993/pseuds/wantinghopingwriting
Summary: The problem was Ben wasn't sure if the love he was looking for from the woman he was looking for actually existed. Or whether it was as much of a fantasy as the Star Trek fan fiction he had written in college.Speed dating AU.





	And Still You Want Me

 

A speed dating event was Ben's worst nightmare really. Although to be fair it would not necessarily have registered on Ben's radar as one of his worst nightmares because he would never have thought there would be a realm where he would be in danger of attending one. All those people, all that being ushered around a dingy basement bar (and Ben knew from the movies that this sort of thing always occurred in the basement of some "trendy" bar), all that pressure. Impressing a stranger in a mere seven minutes was something that Ben knew he would be mind blowingly terrible at. He was a grower, he grew on people. Seven minutes was not an adequate length of time to grow on a woman. None of his ex girlfriends had been especially enamoured by him at first glance. He wasn't that sort of guy. He was more of a Luke Skywalker than a Han Solo (and it had taken Ben a long time to come to terms with that. But hey, Luke had eventually defeated the dark side even if he hadn't got the girl and that wasn't worth scoffing at). Plus Ben was a state auditor, basically a professional budget balancer. It was not a job that sounded even vaguely glamorous. Mediocrity did not exactly make a guy stand out from the crowd at these things.

Also, what was the point in dating when you never settled in one place for more than a few months at a time? His last relationship had never really had the chance to make it off the ground because they were forced to go weeks at a time without seeing each other. Skype phone calls in seedy motel rooms and snatched weekends where both parties were bowled over with exhaustion were not exactly conductive to great romances. (And Ben had never really experienced an epic romance that had made him want to surrender his nomadic ways and settle permanently in one place). This was one of the rare interludes where he and Chris had been back in Indianapolis for a few months while they waited on a new assignment.

So, basically Ben would never have opted to try speed dating in a million years. Unfortunately, Chris Traeger, Ben's auditing partner and (god help him) friend, loved speed dating. Just like he had also loved Tinder, blind dates, dating in the dark and dating sites. All of which Ben had found himself reluctantly being badgered into trying and all of which had been unequivocal disasters. His successful relationships (of which there had not been many) had all started through meetings with friends, or chance meetings in bars or encounters at work. You know, normal, old fashioned ways of meeting people. Ben hated modern dating and all his experiences of it so far had led him to believe that it hated him back.

"This turnout is literally unbelievable," Chris enthused, ambushing Ben as he moved towards the bar. The bar that sold way too expensive gin and was located down a set of impractical stairs in the basement. Of course. "What an amazing foray into my first adventure in speed date event hosting."

Because obviously Chris had not been content with just attending speed dating events, he had to now host them. When Ben had questioned why any sane person would want to host something like this, Chris had merely beamed and said something about wanting to share his happiness with the rest of Indianapolis (and Ben). He had met his new girlfriend, Anne Perkins, at a similar event three months prior and would not shut up singing the praises of organised speed dating ever since.

There did however appear to be a decent turnout. Ben found himself wondering just how many leaflets Chris had been pushing into unsuspecting peoples' mailboxes while on his daily 10k runs. Almost all the women seemed to have come in pairs and were all sipping trendy drinks out of straws. Ben felt supremely out of place in this urban cosmopolis in his off white plaid shirt that he had worn to work that morning.

"Look at all these beautiful women, Ben. I just know you'll find the woman of your dreams tonight." Chris was still talking animatedly while Ben tried to catch the bar tender's attention. He definitely needed a double gin and tonic right now, extortionate prices be damned. "The atmosphere in this room is literally amazing. It feels like hope and happiness."

"Or damp and desperation," Ben couldn't help but mutter sardonically.

Chris frowned but Ben was thankfully saved from what would doubtlessly be a so-called inspiring lecture from his friend by the bartender. By the time he had ordered and paid for his drink, Chris had been joined by the aforementioned Anne Perkins. Ben had already met her briefly on a prior occasion last week when she had dropped by the office to see Chris. She was pretty, friendly and seemingly quite taken with Chris.

"Oh hi again, Ben," she smiled at him as he turned around to face the pair. Chris' arm had already found its way around her waist.

"Hi, Anne," Ben smiled back and took a sip of his drink. "I didn't realise you were coming tonight. Aren't you already spoken for?" He joked wryly.

"Oh I'm here with a friend to give her some moral support. She gets really nervous about this kind of thing. We drove up from Pawnee together," Anne explained.

"Anne Perkin's friend, Leslie Knope, is a magnificent, beautiful, smart, capable woman and I am equally certain that she will find her soul mate, in this room, tonight." Chris proclaimed exuberantly.

Ben wondered when Chris had found the time to come to know Anne's friends so intimately after casually dating for a few weeks. Then again, Chris thought everyone was magnificent and beautiful, including the barista at Starbucks and the mail clerk that delivered to the auditing office.

"Well I hope so," Anne agreed, "Leslie deserves to meet someone nice."

"Where is the amazing Leslie Knope?" Chris asked craning his head as if expecting her to materialise at any moment.

"She's outside on her phone, sorting something out for work," Anne said. "I'm getting our drinks and then I'm going to give her a pep talk. She's already talking about cue cards." Ben wondered if it was possible that there was another person in this room that was more inept at these things than himself.

Anne then proceeded to order two of the most decadent shimmering pink cocktails he had ever seen. It looked like what Ben would expect a mermaid to drink (not that Ben spent a lot of time imagining what beverages mermaids might consume) as they reclined on a tropical beach fanning their tails. Not only were the drinks incredibly offensively pink, they also cost Anne what Ben considered to be a small fortune. Ben briefly considered giving Chris' new girlfriend budgeting advice but managed to bite back the impulse. Anne gave Ben another small smile and Chris a squeeze of his arm before disappearing back into the crowd, a drink in each hand.

"Five minutes until show time," said Chris, already sounding like an exceptionally cheesy games show host.

***

"Cue cards are made for events like this," Leslie protested adamantly. "They're a highly efficient method of getting to know a potential date in seven minutes. The only method really. What else am I going to do, Anne? Seven minutes isn't long enough to let a conversation grow naturally."

Anne sighed, shaking her head in fond exasperation. "Leslie, cue cards are made for work presentations and job interviews. They have no place in the world of dating. Ever."

Leslie bit her lip, torn. On one hand she loved Anne and trusted her judgement without question. But on the other hand, she did not think that Anne fully appreciated stationary and its thousands of uses in every possible situation. Anne understood fashion (she had picked Leslie a lovely black dress with tiny printed daisies that managed to both emphasise her curves and be surprisingly comfortable for this occasion), dating and what constituted as a good television program. However, she did not understand how important a well thought out set of cue cards could be or that the Harry Potter series contained incredibly important adult themes while being unfairly categorised as children's books.

"But if I forget to ask all of my questions, how will I know if we're compatible as life partners?" Leslie asked pleadingly.

"Leslie, dating is about chemistry." Anne's voice was firm. "It is not about whether somebody gives you all the right answers to a set of arbitrary questions. Somebody can like Madeleine Albright and still be a complete and utter jerk. You need to go out there, finish your drink, be yourself and have some fun."

Leslie smiled at her friend, amused by her words. "Oh Anne Perkins, you spectacular but naïve land mermaid, chemistry is just a word that beautiful people use to explain why other beautiful people are attracted to them."

"Leslie you are my best friend but right now you are being ridiculous. You are beautiful, you are kind and you are funny. But more importantly you are going to go in that bar and show people how fantastic you are. Without cue cards. Please."

Leslie could not help but smile at Anne, any traces of frustration waning in the face of her friend's kind words. She knew that Anne just wanted her to be happy. And because Anne had seemingly found a guy that she really liked at a speed dating event back in December, she was convinced that Leslie's ideal man was in this very bar, this particular evening (Leslie's ideal man in all honesty was currently in the White House, advising President Obama on matters of national security and she very much doubted that any man at this hipster looking bar would manage to fill his shoes or replace him in her daydreams). It was not Anne's fault that Leslie still needed to find an extra five volunteers for her park clean up on Sunday morning.

Nor was it Anne's fault that Leslie suspected she would be completely incompetent at speed dating. As Anne kept insisting, speed dating was about instincts. Leslie's instincts about men and dating were notoriously preposterous. And Leslie hated being bad at anything, she wasn't used to it and it made her grouchy. So a Friday evening spent doing something that she knew she would suck at could not help but feel like a waste. She thought wistfully of the historical walking tour of Indianapolis that she had tried to convince Anne to abandon the speed dating night in favour of when she had came across an article on it earlier.

"You are the best friend in the entire world," Leslie told Anne, meaning every word of it, "even though you prefer to spend your Friday evenings in expensive, busy bars instead of learning facts about the greatest state capital in America."

She allowed Anne to steer her back into the bar, sipping her drink as she went (it was as delicious as it looked) and trying not to trip in the black strappy sandals that Anne had loaned her for the evening.

If Joe Biden (in an alternate universe where he was single of course) or any man with half his worth turned up tonight, then she would happily eat crow and buy Anne a lifetime supply of waffles (because you could never have too many waffles).

***

Chris was standing in the centre of the room with a microphone, taking great pleasure in describing the rules for the evening in excruciating detail.

It was a fairly simple concept. The men took one of the seats behind the single tables that were lined up around the edges of the room and stayed there, unmoving. The women rotated around the tables, moving to the next man on their left every time the bell rang signalling that another seven minutes had passed. It might have been a simple concept but it was still a one that Ben found more and more awkward as every second passed. He did not know what to do with his hands for one thing. Should he leave them awkwardly drumming on the table? Too nervy. Should he hide them in his lap? Too shifty. Should he cross them across his chest? Too much like his high school principal.

Both the men and women were given scorecards to 'rate' how much they had enjoyed their seven minutes with each person by picking a number between one and ten. Ben felt that he had been momentarily transported back to his high school days. Any minute now he felt that he would be asked to vote for his Prom King and Queen. Or speed dating King and Queen as it stood. Ben had never done particularly well in those type of votes. But he had done much better at winning votes for school council (and eventually Mayor but that was a very different kind of failure that Ben managed to block out of his mind most days) so he did have a bit of experience of selling himself, he supposed. He sat up a little straighter and settled for laying his hands, palms flat, on the table.

"But the most important rule of all is to have fun and be open to love!" Chris came to the end of his monologue.

Was Ben open to love? Despite all of his deeply ingrained scepticism, Ben thought that he was. Perhaps he was not as much of a believer as he had been at eighteen when he had truly convinced himself that sheer nerve alone would win him the heart of the beautiful but aloof Cindy Eckert. But he was still the same person who had watched Han Solo casually retort "I know" to Princess Leia's declaration of love in the Empire Strikes Back with wide eyes and a swelling heart. There was something to be said for just knowing that someone loved you because of the way they treated you and protected you and fought for you. Ben didn't think he had ever really had that kind of love but good lord did he crave it. Yet, did craving something and believing in it necessarily come hand in hand? The problem was Ben wasn't sure if the love he was looking for from the woman he was looking for actually existed. Or whether it was as much of a fantasy as the Star Trek fan fiction he had written in college. (Okay, Ben still occasionally dabbled in fan fiction, not that he would ever admit to that).

Chris rang the bell with vigour, interrupting Ben's internal ramblings. Ben barely had time to take a large gulp of his G&T before he found himself face to face with his first date of the evening. Ben would probably estimate she was in her early thirties with wavy light brown hair and turquoise glasses. Her dress was pale pink and clung to her curves. She was attractive and looked like she would know her way around a household expenses spreadsheet (Ben thought that it was probably the glasses).

"Hi, my name's Elisa, I'm 33 years old, originally from Chicago." She introduced herself as though she did this every weekend. (Oh god, did she? Were all these people professional speed daters?).

Ben held out his hand and to his great relief Elisa shook it. He resumed the palms flat hand position. "Hi Elisa, I'm Ben. 38 years old, originally from Minnesota."

"I guess we're both used to snow then." She threw Ben a little grin and Ben was glad that she was at least easy to talk to. He started to breathe a little easier. "Where do you work?"

"I'm a state auditor. I work for the state of Indiana, helping cities that are in financial crisis."

"So you're basically a badly paid accountant?" Elisa scrunched up her nose a little and Ben felt his new found optimism start to wane.

"I guess you could say that," he joked, trying not to take it personally.

"I'm a librarian," Elisa said. "The state cut our opening hours by 30% last year. And capped our wages. If it had been down to you, would you have done the same?"

That was when Ben knew the next five and a half minutes were going to be very awkward.

***

The second woman was perfectly nice and had very endearing dimples when she smiled.

"I've had a very busy week so I'm sorry if my game's a little off," she said after the necessary introductions.

"I don't have any game at all," Ben said with a self depreciating grin, "so you're already doing better than me." He felt vindicated when the woman, whose name was Jessica laughed.

"I'm sure that's not true," she chuckled.

Ben merely shrugged in response. "So what have you been doing that has kept you so busy this week?"

"Well work's been insane," Jessica responded with an eye roll. "And then Monday was our monthly NRA meeting and yesterday I went to a rally."

Ben winced a little at the mention of the NRA. "What sort of rally, may I ask?"

"A Republican rally."

Ben had always thought of himself as a pretty open minded guy but some differences were too stark to transcend. He thought of George Bush and Dick Cheney and shuddered.

***

It took Ben approximately thirty seconds to realise that the third woman was infatuated with Chris.

"Hey, I saw you at the bar talking to the guy who's hosting," she said as soon as the introductions were over. "Is he a friend of yours?"

***

His fourth date of the night obviously wanted to be anywhere else in the world other than in this bar, talking to Ben.

Ben sunk a little lower into his seat, ran his fingers through his hair and relished in the thought of slowly murdering Chris later.

***

The fifth woman was so drunk that she almost fell into Ben's lap during her introductory handshake.

By this point, Ben was a little bit jealous of her.

***

"Hi, my name's Leslie Knope," the sixth woman said. She was wearing a short black dress that was printed with daisies (daisies, in February) and her hair fell in blonde curls around her face. "Are you a chauvinistic pig? Are you married? Or, worst of all, are you a non voter?" Her words came out in a nervous rush, before she so much as even sat down.

"Um.... no, no and no." Ben was taken a back by her intensity. "Is this how you greet all of your dates?" Ben really hoped that he didn't look like a chauvinistic pig. And why did this woman's name sound so familiar?

Her posture relaxed slightly and she slid into the seat opposite Ben. "Sorry, I've just had some really terrible dates this evening. Or mini dates. Or whatever these are supposed to be. I'm Leslie Knope."

"You said," Ben smirked. "I'm Ben, Ben Wyatt."

At that moment Ben glanced down and took note of the drink that Leslie was drinking for the first time. It was pink and shimmery.

"Oh," he said, surprised. "You're Anne's friend."

Leslie's face visibly brightened at the mere mention of her friend. "You know Anne?"

"I'm friends with Chris," Ben explained, nodding in his general direction.

"Oh, you're the friend that Chris was telling Anne about," Leslie proclaimed excitedly. She gave him a scrutinising look that for some reason made Ben want to hide under the table. "You're the other state auditor. You are not what I expected."

"Is that a good or bad thing?" Ben couldn't help but ask.

"Just different," Leslie shrugged.

Ben decided to steer the conversation towards safer waters. "Well if it makes you feel any better, I've had some spectacular disasters tonight too."

"One man told me I was too short to date." Leslie scrunched up her nose at the memory. She had a very small, cute nose, Ben couldn't help but notice.

"My first date called me a heartless, selfish Nazi," Ben shrugged with a little laugh.

"Wow, you must have really blew that one," Leslie smirked. "What did you do to her?"

Ben sighed a little. "Cut the funding for her library."

"Ben, that might be the sexiest thing a man has ever said to me."

When she gave a real, genuine smile that lit up her entire face, Ben's heart felt too big for his chest.

***

Despite the fact that he was wearing what seemed to be a brown plaid shirt, Ben was cute. He had luscious thick hair, warm eyes and a lop sided smile. He also hadn't criticised her appearance in the first thirty seconds of meeting her, told her she would make "an adequate housewife" and could string a coherent sentence together. It was certainly the best date she had been on so far this evening, not that the standard so far was particularly high.

"I have five very important questions for you," she said. Leslie had so far resisted the need to bring out her cue cards. But the five questions were non negotiable.

Ben smirked at her again, seemingly amused. "Good lord, is this a date or an interrogation?"

Leslie ignored his protest, sensing that he was willing to go along with her. "Firstly, what Hogwart's house would you be in?"

Ben's eyebrows raised but he answered after a second. "Ravenclaw, I guess?"

Leslie knew beyond a doubt that she was a Gryffindor. She had all the traits of a true Gryffindor. Still, she wasn't adverse to a Ravenclaw, she supposed. Luna was one of the coolest characters in the books, after all. "That's acceptable," she decided.

"Out of interest, what house would have been unacceptable?" Ben asked.

"Slytherins are the worst," Leslie was vehement in her reply. "I could never date a Slytherin."

"You do know this is theoretical, right?" Ben snorted dryly. "You do know we don't actually go to Hogwarts?"

"Of course I know that, Ben. If we did, I wouldn't be here right now because I would be dating Professor Lupin."

Ben laughed, although he still looked a little bit non plussed.

"Question number two, who is your favourite couple from history?"

Ben took a moment to think of an answer. "Ruth Bader Ginsberg and Martin Ginsberg. I watched a documentary about her last week on the History channel."

The woman who changed America forever and the man that was by her side every step of the way. That was the moment that Leslie started to think that she could fall for Ben Wyatt.

"That is a pretty good answer," Leslie gulped. "Next, did you vote for Obama?"

Leslie was a Democrat through and through - she had been since she was ten years old. She remembered her dad watching one of her home-made campaign videos and fondly remarking that she would never make a Republican. Her mother had ruffled her hair and said she was her mother's daughter. No political campaign had ever captured Leslie's imagination the way that President Obama's had though. (And she had closely followed every election campaign since the year she had turned 13). She had sobbed uncontrollably at his "yes we can" speech. But wasn't that what politics was about? Saying yes, instead of no, and pushing the boundaries of what was possible?

"Of course," said Ben without a moment of hesitation.

"What are your hopes and dreams?" Leslie pressed on.

Ben scratched the back of his neck with his hand, tugging at his shirt collar a little. For the first time he seemed a little uncomfortable. "I'm not sure if I have any," he muttered, looking at the table.

"Of course you do," Leslie said, with conviction.

"How can you know that?" Ben raised an eyebrow sceptically. "We only just met."

"Because you voted for Obama. Because your favourite historical couple set out to change our country for the better. You can tell a lot about people by the things they love."

"Maybe I like those things because I don't have dreams of my own." Ben shrugged, looking down at the table again. "Maybe I admire those people because they knew what they wanted. Maybe I'm just a state auditor with no idea what he wants."

"I don't believe you, Ben Wyatt."

***

The thing was Ben could tell that the woman sitting opposite him would dream in technicolour. She would dream of changing the world, he was sure. And from the five and a half minutes spent in her company, Ben almost believed that she would be able to do anything she wanted to. She was smart and witty and surprising. She asked strange questions that Ben would never have dreamed of asking a relative stranger and she listened to his answers as though they held all the secrets of the universe. She wore a dress with daisies on it in the coldest month of the year. Ben did not know what to make of her yet but he knew that he wanted to know more.

The truth was Ben had always had dreams. He was from Partridge, Minnesota, for god's sake. A lot of the time there was very little to do apart from dream. He had honestly thought that he was destined for great things. But then Ice Town had happened and Cindy Eckert had crushed his teenage heart into pieces and Ben had learned that the problem with wanting things so badly was that it made you vulnerable. It was safer to pretend that you were content with what you had, that you never yearned for more.

Leslie Knope terrified and excited Ben at the same time because she was asking questions that Ben had managed to avoid for the past decade and a half. She was sitting in front of him and demanding to know what he wanted. If he had been a braver man, Ben would have said I want to work in the White House, I want to write speeches for great leaders, I want my name in the history books and I want to kiss you.

Instead, he said, "So what's your last question?"

Leslie smiled at him, all big blue eyes and subtly flushed cheeks. "What do you think about parks?"

"They're good for kids, I guess," Ben said, shrugging.

"And?" Leslie pressed, her smile fading a little.

"What do you mean?" Ben replied, puzzled.

"You must have more opinions on parks than they're good for kids."

"I really don't," Ben retorted. "I mean, I haven't really spent time in one since I was about ten."

"You're a state auditor." Leslie's voice rose a little. "Don't you spend time looking at the services a town offers?"

"Leslie," Ben said, confused by her apparent championing of parks, "I spend time in schools and hospitals and other vital parts of towns. A park is just a park."

Leslie's eyes flashed dangerously and Ben realised that he had just made a potentially fatal error in judgement. For whatever reason, Ben had probably just killed off any chance he had ever had with this beautiful, fiery woman in front of him.

The bell rang, signalling the end.

"You're kind of a jerk," said Leslie as she stood up and left without so much as a glance back.

Once again Ben had wanted and Ben had lost.

***

"And then he said a park is just a park!" Leslie ranted, her face flushed, as she took another gulp of her drink. The pink cocktails had really been the highlight of her night, she decided.

"Leslie," Anne intervened, putting a hand on her friend's arm and patting it soothingly. "Not everyone loves parks as much as you do. He didn't know you worked for the Parks department. I'm sure he didn't mean to upset you."

"There's not loving parks and then there's not showing an ounce of respect towards them." Leslie was too worked up to be consoled. For one short moment she thought that she had found someone who understood her. She looked at a man with interesting answers, glorious bone structure and an adorable smile and saw potential. Then he had to go and ruin it all by turning out to be an insensitive, park hating jerk. Dismissing parks as though they were nothing short of irrelevant was possibly more repulsive than being a non voter, as far as Leslie was concerned. He would probably just use his vote to close down all of the parks in the world anyway. "He's a bone head and I want another drink." Leslie gestured at the bartender once again.

"Maybe he is a bone head," Anne conceded. "But he's a bone head who likes Obama and has opinions on Harry Potter and politics. How often do you meet men like that?"

"I never want to see his terrible face again." Leslie huffed out, as she paid for her next drink.

"I've never seen you this worked up over a guy before," Anne pointed out, with a small, sly smile.

Leslie ignored the implications behind her friend's words. "Maybe I'm allergic to butt heads," she muttered.

"Or maybe it's that chemistry we were discussing earlier." Anne's smile turned into a smirk.

Before Leslie could protest, Chris bounded up to them, his usual million watt smile plastered across his face. "Leslie Knope, you look amazing tonight," he enthused. "I am 110% certain that you will have made an incredible impression on almost every man in this room. Anne Perkins, you also look stunning, as always. What were you ladies talking about?"

"Leslie thinks that your friend Ben is a butt head," Anne snickered, sidling closer to Chris. Leslie had to admit that although he wasn't the type of man that Leslie had envisaged her best friend with, the two of them looked good together. Then again, how could two such incredibly attractive people not complement each other? Looking at the pair of them together was a little like looking into the sun. A beaming, beautiful, loved up sun.

"Ben Wyatt? Ben Wyatt is a incredibly good hearted, loyal, intelligent man and an excellent friend and companion. He is most certainly not a butt head." Chris shook his head emphatically, although his smile never left his face.

"Seemed like a butt head to me," Leslie muttered petulantly.

"Ben is perhaps not the best at making first impressions," Chris admitted reluctantly. "But once you get to know him, you will never find a better man. Besides, he may have told me that he has a very high opinion of you. Now can I have your scorecard?"

Leslie handed over her scorecard, slightly shaken by Chris' words. Ben was a butt head, why did it matter what he thought of her? Yet, somehow it did.

"What did you score Ben?" Anne asked as Chris moved over to the next group of women.

"2," Leslie said, a little shame faced despite herself. At the time she had been adamant that hating parks deserved a score of 0 but she had found herself unable to give a man who championed Ruth Bader Ginsburg zero.

"Oh, Leslie," Anne shook her head and turned back to her own drink.

***

Ben was not a man who took a lot of risks, not any more. He did exactly what was expected of his at work, never going out on a limb for anything or anyone. He pursued relationships with sensible, practical women who knew where they were going in life and respected his level headedness. They complemented him but rarely challenged him. They absolutely never caused his stomach to drop like he was on a roller-coaster at Coney Island. He never stayed in one town long enough to get attached and he took a sensible holiday once a year to recharge his batteries. He never went on that sledding expedition in Alaska that he had dreamed of since he was a boy. He never stood up and voiced his opinion that something wasn't fair when a service he believed in was being cut in a flailing town. He never chased after women who yelled at him or pushed him to face his most vivid insecurities.

So giving Leslie a score of 10, despite the vague notion that she now hated him, was the bravest thing Ben had done in years. He was putting his neck on the line with very little hope of receiving anything in return. But how could he not give a woman whose eyes lit up at the mention of Obama, a woman who had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, a woman who had talked about government funding and children's book series with equal passion, the highest possible score? She was a true Gryffindor. She was an enigma. She was absolutely, breath takingly beautiful. Ben felt like he was the President of the Model UN society in High School all over again, completely besotted with the beautiful, popular prom queen who was completely out of his reach. (Except he already knew that Leslie would never be content with just being prom queen. A more likely analogy would be the President of the Model UN society being completely besotted with the President of a rival, and undeniably superior, Model UN society which had just completely kicked his team's butt in a mock debate).

He took the risk, knowing that it was an entirely awful idea. It was still a crushing disappointment to get his own score card back and see that she had given him a rating of 2. So that was that, over before it had even started, Ben supposed. All he would ever get from Leslie Knope was seven wonderful, albeit perplexing, minutes in her company. It wasn't going to be one of those stories where a chance encounter turned into an epic love story. It was going to be one of those stories where misunderstandings led to missed opportunities and what could have beens. It was a sort of tragic rewrite of A New Hope where Han Solo takes his money and flees to repay his debts, never to return again, and Luke and Leia go up in flames with Yavin 4. (Perhaps slightly over dramatic Ben thought but it was a fair representation of his fatalistic mood as he put on his black winter's coat and retreated up the stairs towards the main exit).

He stopped in his tracks as the door swung shut behind him. Leslie was a few feet away from him on the side walk, her back to him and in conversation with a tall man with dark slicked back hair and a Burberry shirt on. She wasn't wearing a jacket and her hair shone even brighter away from the dim mood lighting that had been ever present in the basement bar.

"I can't believe you gave me a 3," the dark haired man was saying, in a brusque manner. (Ben had been beaten by a man who still wore hair gel circa 1995, Ben lamented woefully). Ben watched as Leslie took a small step backwards, unwittingly coming closer towards him during her retreat. "I gave you a 6 and you're nowhere near as hot as my ex girlfriend was."

"Maybe the 3 was because of your charming personality," Leslie snapped, clearly annoyed. Ben bit back an involuntary chuckle.

"Or maybe it's because you're an uppity bitch," the man growled, moving towards her again.

Ben stepped forward and punched him in the nose before he could even think about it. He just had time to register Leslie's little yelp of surprise before the much larger man punched him back, with much more force than Ben himself had managed to muster. Ben fell to the floor, clutching his stinging jaw, in what he imagined was a distinctly unheroic manner.

"Ben!" Leslie cried out, dropping to the floor beside him.

"Oh my gosh, Ben!" another familiar voice shouted from behind them.

When Ben looked up, still cradling his jaw in his palm, both Leslie and Chris were crouched down beside him. Anne was hovering behind them and the dark haired man (who packed one hell of a punch, Ben had to admit) had disappeared altogether.

"What happened?" Anne asked Leslie.

"He called me a bitch and Ben punched him. Then he got punched back," Leslie whispered, her expression one of shock and worry.

"God, what an ass," Anne hissed, immediately angry on her friend's behalf.

"Ben's a hero!" Chris declared, entirely too cheerily for the circumstances at hand.

Ben stopped listening to what was going on around him at that point because Leslie reached out to him and ran her fingers lightly across his jaw. In all honestly, not only did he stop listening, but he was pretty sure that he also stopped breathing.

"You are a defender of women, my friend," Chris was still talking.

Ben pulled away from Leslie and began to push himself unsteadily to his feet. "Thanks Chris, but I don't think Leslie really needed defending from anybody," Ben muttered, casting another quick look in her direction. Her eyes were enormous and glowing. Ben wondered if he was concussed.

"Nonsense, you're a hero," Chris repeated enthusiastically. "Ben's a hero," he looked to Anne for confirmation.

"Ben's face hurts," Ben sighed in reply. "I think I'm going to head home."

He began to walk in the direction of his apartment, weary and drained after the events of a seemingly never ending and progressively bewildering day. He had barely managed a dozen steps before he heard his name called out once again.

"Ben! Wait!" When he turned around he saw Leslie hurrying down the side walk towards him.

"I wondered if maybe you wanted to go for a walk with me?" It was phrased as a question but Ben knew that there had never been any doubt as to what his answer would be.

***

It was not as though Leslie was unaccustomed to people having her back. She was lucky enough to be blessed with a number of fantastic friends that would do absolutely anything for her. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Anne, Ron or April would have put the fear of god into that man without a moment's hesitation. Still, there was something hopelessly endearing about Ben defending her honour. Especially since she had so brutally attacked his own honour less than an hour before. If he was the sort of man who would stand up for a relative stranger who he had no real allegiance to, how loyal and dedicated must he be to the people he cared about? There was no trait that was more attractive to Leslie than loyalty.

She had always believed that actions spoke louder than words. In her job, she could make all the promises in the world but unless she carried those promises through, her town would never truly believe in her. It was perhaps even more true in regards to love and friendship. Her friends and family had taught her that. There was Leslie's mother whose stern manner and harsh words could sting beyond belief. Yet, she had taken on two jobs just so her daughter could have a smooth college experience free of financial worry. There was Ron who made sure to say several times a day that he did not care about anything or anyone. But every time Leslie had turned to him, whether she needed advice or resources or simply his calming presence, Ron had come to her aid without hesitation. She could see past Ben's words (words that had hurt and offended Leslie, however unintentional that hurt may have been) if he was the kind of man who would protect a woman he barely knew and then self depreciatingly acknowledge that she had been perfectly capable of defending herself in the first place.

It was possible that Leslie had been very mistaken in regards to Ben being a butt head. So, she had asked Ben if he had wanted to go for a walk and to her great relief he had accepted with a lopsided smile.

"You didn't have to do that," Leslie said as they walked side by side down the Indianapolis side walk.

Ben turned his head to look at her, his hands pushed deep into his coat pockets. The woollen, black pea coat looked fantastic against his creamy white skin, Leslie thought. He looked like a snowflake or a sexy vampire or a man who had put himself in the way of acute bodily harm for her.

"I know," Ben replied softly.

"So why did you?" Leslie pressed gently, taking another look at the faint purple bruise which was slowly blossoming across his jawline. The strangest feeling came over her. She wanted to touch his jaw with her fingertips once again, rub them against his smooth skin until the hurt disappeared.

"Because I hate that word he called you. I have a little sister. Only douches call women that when their pride gets hurt," Ben muttered darkly.

"So you think of me like your little sister?" Leslie asked both baffled and inexplicably disappointed.

Ben laughed then, loudly and disbelievingly. "God, no," he chuckled. Laughing suited him even more than the black pea coat did.

Then they were both smiling and walking without any destination in mind.

***

The fact that they ended up at the entrance to a park was purely accidental. Leslie wasn't even from Indianapolis for god's sake - the last time she had been to a park in the city it had been with her father what felt like a lifetime ago. She'd still sported pigtails then. And she had loved parks unabashedly. Then again, she still did now (the parks, not that pigtails, of course).

When Ben saw the sign for the park, he rolled his eyes. "Of course," he quipped dryly. "Where else would we end up?"

Leslie bit her lip, a nervous habit from childhood that had never quite left her. "I'm sorry I called you a jerk."

"Why did you call me a jerk?" He asked with a shrug.

Leslie sighed. "I work for the Parks department in Pawnee, Indiana. It kind of felt like you were making fun of my life's work."

To her surprise, Ben did not apologise and he did not look embarrassed. Instead, he paused for a moment and then merely said, "So, show me why parks are so great then."

Leslie opened her mouth but before she could speak he lifted his index finger and placed it against her lips. "Show, don't tell," he said with a smirk.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction of the park's main entrance.

Ben Wyatt wasn't a snowflake. He was a snowstorm. He was a snowstorm in a park.

***

She loved the swings the most. She had grinned at the zip wire, traced her hand along the bandstand and glanced at the slide fondly. But she had positively beamed when the swings came into eyesight. Leslie was the type of person who could not hide what she felt. More than that, she did not even particularly seem to try to hide her feelings. She just sort of let them play out across her face in a way that said take it or leave it. Take it or leave her. Ben definitely wanted to take it. Take her, really.

Ben went towards the swings first. There was two, side by side, swaying slightly in the night's gentle breeze. "I bet I can go higher than you," he said, raising an eyebrow in challenge. He had not been this childish, this carefree, in years. It felt dangerous and reckless and everything that Icetown had been. For the first time, Ben was beginning to see that recklessness did not always have to spell disaster. Or he certainly hoped it didn't anyway.

He took the left swing, kicking his feet up in front of him to start the momentum. Forward, legs straight out in front, backwards, knees tucked behind. He quickly found the well worn rhythm of his childhood. Leslie stood and watched him for a moment, a small smile on her lips.

"No one ever goes higher than me," she finally retorted, taking the right swing.

Ben believed her.

He watched her now messy hair flying out behind her and the way her short dress rode up dangerously high as she kicked her legs ever more ferociously. No one had ever felt as lucky as Ben Wyatt did in that moment.

She beat him, but only just.

When their laughter had died down and the swings had stilled, Leslie turned to look at him again. She shivered visibly and Ben once again noted the absence of a jacket on her bare arms.

He shrugged out of his own coat, holding it out towards her. "Would you think I was a chauvinistic pig, if I offered you my coat?"

Leslie took it, their fingers brushing momentarily. "No, I'd just think you were kind." She pushed her arms through the holes, the coat swallowing her up in its relatively enormity. "Thank you." She left it unbuttoned.

"I never got to ask any questions," Ben said, his voice quiet.

"What do you want to know?" Leslie answered, also quiet.

"Who's your favourite person?"

"Anne," she said without pausing.

"Your favourite flower?"

"Daisies," she said pointing at her dress.

"That is a very nice dress," Ben gulped, having to make a conscious effort to return to his previous train of thought. "Thanksgiving or Christmas?"

"Christmas," she said. "For the tree."

"Your favourite moment?"

"Good question," she grinned, her nose scrunching up in what Ben considered to be a fairly adorable manner. "I'll say last 4th of July. I was with all the people I loved the most, I'd just made the biggest move of my career so far and Pawnee council paid out for the most fantastic firework display in Pawnee's recent history. Everything was pretty perfect that night." She hesitated for a moment. "What's yours?"

Ben winced, remembering the moment that stood out for him above all others. Ben was usually a take me or leave me guy, just like Leslie. Unlike Leslie however, that attitude didn't come from any sort of vivid self belief or unwavering optimism. It came from a profound ambivalence towards people and being fairly accustomed to rejection. However, Leslie was different. He cared very much what Leslie thought of him and desperately didn't want her to think that he was one of those guys who stayed hung up on high school misfortunes for the rest of their lives. I mean, he was one of those guys, but it wasn't like he especially wanted to be.

"How come you got five questions and I only got four?" Ben tried to deflect.

"Ben," Leslie's brow furrowed slightly. "Please."

Ben pushed himself up on to his feet and walked towards the climbing frame, looking up at the platform near the top. If he didn't answer her questions, Leslie was going to give up on him. But then, if he did answer her questions, she might give up on him. Either way was a risk and risks made Ben feel vaguely sick. His career wasn't carved out of eliminating risks for no reason. But Leslie made Ben want to be seen as he really was and not just as how he presented himself to the rest of the world on a daily basis. He wanted her to see his failures, his triumphs, his yearnings. He wanted her to see everything and he wanted her to want him.

He put his feet on to the rails and began to scramble up the climbing frame, with no trace of elegance. He was significantly more gangly and stiff than he had been last time he had attempted such a task. Yet, somehow, he found himself on the platform at the top of the climbing frame. He lay on his back, looking up at the night sky. He wasn't the sort of man that could name constellations but he was the kind of man who appreciated a clear night sky.

Leslie joined him, with significantly more ease than he had displayed himself. She had taken off her shoes - her toes were painted a pale pink. She lowered herself down beside him, bare footed and huddled into his coat. He began to hope a little more.

Then, he made himself talk.

***

"My favourite moment happened when I was eighteen. I was elected Mayor of my home town. God knows why, some sort of voter rebellion I suppose. I only ran to impress a girl. But I won. And as I stood there, on election night, in front of all my family and friends, it felt like anything was possible."

As Leslie lay next to him, she couldn't believe that she hadn't recognised him beforehand. She had followed his mayoral campaign as a teenager. She had rooted for him, celebrated his victory and (though she wouldn't admit it) leered at him a little. He had been cute, even at eighteen, after all.

"What happened?" she asked. He had kind of disappeared from her radar after his victory. She had always liked to think of him living out a long political career. But deep down, she had always known that it wasn't the most viable explanation for his sudden disappearance.

"I blew the whole of the town's budget on a winter sport's complex called Ice Town," Ben mumbled. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. I ended up impeached and the whole dream came to an end less than six months after that night. My family never really forgave me. Hundreds of people lost their jobs. It turns out that some things aren't possible after all."

"Hey," Leslie said firmly. "You were eighteen. Everybody makes mistakes at eighteen. It wasn't just you at fault, it was your advisers, your team, your family. They should have known better."

"I guess," said Ben, not sounding entirely convinced.

"Why didn't you want to tell me?" Leslie asked.

"Because you're amazing and smart and kind," Ben admitted. "I didn't want you to think I'm a loser or an idiot or hate me."

"Ben," Leslie chastised gently. "You seem to have the wrong idea of me. I'm not some perfect person. I'm human, I make mistakes too. God knows I can be stubborn and reckless. I called you a jerk for no good reason less than two hours ago. My boss yells at me at least weekly and tells me I'm a hothead and liable to acting before I think." She paused. "And I don't hate you. I wouldn't. Not for something that happened when you were essentially a kid."

Ben tilted his head to the side, looking at her directly for the first time since he had pulled himself up on to the climbing frame.

"I don't think you're perfect," he replied. "I just think you're the sort of person who always has good intentions."

Leslie chuckled, moving a little closer to him, and nudging his shoulder playfully. "Everybody always thinks they have good intentions. This world was built on good intentions, as my dad used to say. Did you build Icetown with the intention of bankrupting your town and getting people fired?"

"No, I suppose I just really loved winter sports. Everyone in Minnesota loves winter sports. And I just wanted everyone to have a good time." Ben rolled his eyes at the thought of his adolescent self.

"See, you did have good intentions." Leslie gave him a soft smile.

Then she reached across the ever decreasing space between them and took his hand in her own. Ben was sure that no words would ever be good enough to break the silence that fell between them. Ben wanted to write speeches for great men and women, wanted to help them find the words to make people believe in them. But he knew that he would never have the words to do justice to Leslie Knope. He settled for rubbing his thumb across Leslie's knuckles, instead.

As always, Leslie knew what to say. "Ben, what did you want to be when you were a kid?" She gazed across the dark park as she spoke.

Ben laughed before he even started to reply. He pictured his ten year old self, on the ice with his older brother and his friends, faster and more nimble than almost all of the other boys. "An ice hockey player," he said, his lips quirking up at the corners.

They both laughed, their shoulders heaving.

"Of course," Leslie said through quietening chuckles.

"What did you want to be?" he asked.

"I've wanted to be President of the United States since I was seven." Her eyes shone.

Maybe, one day, Ben will write speeches for her.

***

"What do you think about parks now?" Leslie asked, a devilish glint in her eye as they left the park, hand in hand.

"I suspect I might have been converted," he replied, eyes dark and unsmiling.

He took her by the shoulders and kissed her without hesitation or apology.

They will write about this moment one day, Leslie thought, as she kissed him back just as unapologetically, one hand weaving into his hair. They will write about finding everything you ever wanted in an Indianapolis park in February.

***

As their lips moved together and her fingers tightened in his hair, Ben felt wanted, appreciated and understood for the first time in years. For the first time in his life, he _just knew._

He would take risk after risk for her, bare his soul for her time and time again. And he wouldn't necessarily do it with ease because Ben would never be that type of guy. But, perhaps more importantly, he would do it regardless because he knew she was worth it.

He would build a thousand Icetowns if she asked him to.

***

Ben always wanted to write speeches for great men and women. In the end, he got to write speeches for the greatest woman that he ever met. He writes most of the speeches for almost every campaign she runs - from the very first City Council campaign that she starts a few months after he moves to Pawnee to the dozens that came after. He writes victory speeches, debate speeches, policy speeches. He writes every kind of speech imaginable for Leslie Knope over the years.

Perhaps the greatest speech he ever wrote for her, though, was read by him, not her. Leslie had loved his wedding speech the most.

 

**Author's Note:**

> tazza1993 on tumblr.


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